


Potentially Wise

by anniesburg



Category: Hellboy (Movies)
Genre: Creepy cryptid friends, F/M, Just some nice love for the original fish boyfriend, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Shared love of poetry, some blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniesburg/pseuds/anniesburg
Summary: It turns out that exhausting, potentially dangerous working environments can result in the slightly romantic exchange of classic poetry. Who'd have guessed?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just some pg fluff while i play around with my characterization of abe, the original fish boyfriend. originally posted to my tumblr.

“You’re a handler,” Manning wipes the perspiration from his brow and looks almost listless. He looks held together by his suit, uncomfortable under your scrutinizing gaze. “handle this.”

You’re tempted to tell him what he can go handle, but bite back sarcasm and lock it behind your teeth instead. He caught you as you were leaving, walking to the exit to go home. You were half asleep standing, ready to let yourself sink into a nice bath and then into bed. 

But the way his hands shakes sparks in you a sense of sympathy you can’t shake. He’s genuinely scared of what’s housed here, while you shrug it off with something akin to drudgery. He doesn’t ask you to help, however, he tells you and when you show no sign of resistance he physically pulls you after him.

You watch the monster prowl in its cage, beady eyes glowing red in its goat face. It’s not even remotely human but you almost feel sorry for it. Its wings flap uselessly, it’s fevered and angry. 

Its arms are small, capped with a child’s hands and clawed. They’re too short to scratch the glass, at least. Even you’re unnerved by the sight. It stamps its cloven hoof and stares right at you for a moment. 

Resisting the urge to make a face, you turn instead to the bucket that one of the other handlers places beside you. Giving him a tired smile, you pick it up and walk towards the glass.

Black metal against clear, you press a button on the pad affixed to the adjacent drywall. The centre pulls away from itself, like two tiny doors retracting inwardly. It leaves a hole big enough for a human hand holding a chunk of meat. 

Once upon a time you might have bothered with gloves. Now, you’re too exhausted to care and you pick up the piece of beef. Blood coats your hand and drips down your arm as you toss it through the hole. The thing in the cage runs to get its breakfast. You press the button with your unstained hand and the hole closes.

“Ah, there you are.” you turn when you hear a voice that’s uniquely soft-spoken. Your smile is bright and warm when you find Abe standing near the entrance to the containment cells. 

His posture is similar to a ballerino, with his shoulders back despite the casual setting. How he looks has become almost second nature to your eyes, and you extend your hand to him out of habit. 

You’ve never seen eyes like his, large and dark and glittering. They glance down at your fingers and for a moment, they’re disgusted. Looking down, you gasp. 

“Oh, sorry, Abie,” you say, dropping your blood-smeared hand to your side and putting the bucket down. With your left hand, you shake his right. “I barely noticed it, I’m so out of it this morning.” 

“I would hardly call three am morning,” he replies and you blink. “overtime?” he asks without needing to ask. You nod. 

“Yeah, but I think I made a new friend.” you turn your eyes to the cage and Abe seems to see the creature for the first time. The look of revulsion returns but it’s far more potent. 

“I see,” he turns his eyes back to you. “what is it?” you shrug.

“They found it in the Pine Barrens, so my guess is a Jersey Devil.” you turn back to the monster balanced perfectly on its hind legs. It stares at you, then at Abe. Its forked tail flits in the air behind it and after a quiet moment, it lets out the most bloodcurdling scream you’ve ever heard. Flinching, you give Abe a look, speaking with deadpan exhaustion. “He’s delightful, I think I’ll call him Jerry.” 

Abe doesn’t laugh, instead he seems very curious. He turns his head towards you, movements alternating between smooth and rigid. “Is it safe to get closer?” he asks and you nod.

“It’s bark is worse than its bite.” you reply, following a small distance behind him as he observes. When he looks to see where you stand, he gestures for you to come closer. 

“You said _a_ Jersey Devil,” he begins. “not _the_?” you shake your head.

“They found him noshing on some poor hiker’s brain but there were other foot prints in different sizes. Different teeth marks on other parts of the corpse, there was probably more than one.” you only have to lift your head a bit to look at Abe. His earlier expression of disgust is replaced with fascination. “I can show you the body if you want.” he shakes his head.

“No. No, that won’t be necessary. Really, I was hoping to find you.” you smile again, cocking your head to the side. 

“Me?” you ask and Abe seems ill-prepared to tell you about why he wanted to find you. 

“I— yes. You mentioned to me a week ago that you had never read any Tennyson.” fighting the urge to yawn, you nod and look down at Abe’s webbed hands. Held at his side is a book. “I thought you might like to borrow this.”

“Oh, Abe,” you say as he hands the book to you. You take it in your clean hand. It’s thin, maybe a little less than two-hundred pages but the title tells you that it’s a play. “The Glass Menagerie, that sounds beautiful.” 

“Read it, if you’d like and then we can discuss it.” he doesn’t seem to expect your smile to be so bright, nor brighter still when he says that. You nod. 

“I will, I’m sure I’ll love it.” you feel a swelling of pride when the objectively strange-looking man returns your grin almost sheepishly. 

“And I am finished with your Yeats collection, I greatly enjoyed reading that.” your eyes widen just a touch. You’d lent that to him yesterday. Nodding, you turn and grab the now-empty bucket with the hand caked in dried blood. 

“I’ll go wash up and grab it before I leave. I’ll see you tomorrow, Abe.” you say as you head towards the sink. You’re careful not to keep the book as far away from the water as possible.

“Yes, goodbye.” he says and when you turn to wave, he’s gone. 

Strange one, that Abe Sapien, but no stranger than most of what you deal with. He’s kind, endlessly so even if he has the ability to be unnerving. It’s not as if people are banging on his door in search of books, your interest must be refreshing. 

You glance over your shoulder at the devil in the cage. It looks almost sad and your heart twists. Does it mean to kill? Or does it just want to eat? You’re not sure but your pity outweighs the doubt. Resigning yourself to having to wash your hands again, you press the button on the panel and give the thing in the cage an extra chunk of meat. 

“We’re friends now, okay?” you ask it, but it doesn’t look up from its food. “If you escape and kill everyone, my death will be the quickest. Do we have a deal?” now it does look up, its hellfire eyes burning into you. “Good morning, Jerry.” you say as a supplement for goodbye.

 The hole closed, you wash your hands again and make sure that they’re completely dry before touching the book. You read the blurb on the back as you walk towards the elevator. You know the way to the library better than most. Your steps are no longer as sluggish as they were, you’re still tired out of your mind but seeing Abe before heading home is an improvement.

He knows you’re quite fond of him, but pretends not to notice with the way that you guard them. You have to wonder sometimes if he’s aware, _really_ aware of how you see him. He’s beautiful, intelligent, a saviour to so many people. Everyone who meets him, you’re sure, could become infatuated. 

Perhaps that’s why you bury how you feel, the simplicity of it is far too simple for you to entertain. He’s never mentioned it, so you’re certain there’s no way he could return your frenzied emotions. Sometimes how he smiles at you hurts, likely trying to swim through the flood of unwanted emotion.

A third of the way in, the alarm sounds. Emergency, you realize, something top-secret and threatening the lives of people in a concrete way. You hurry your steps, hoping to get to the library before Abe leaves. You like to wish him luck before he heads out, it just seems like the nice thing to do. 

You reach the door and open it but find the place empty. Your heart sinks as you wander in, in search of your book. 

On the desk across from Abe’s tank, you spot the bottle-green cover of your poetry collection. It along with a note were placed in a relatively central and easy to spot location. Unfolding the paper that sits on top, you recognize the handwriting. 

_No doubt you heard the siren, I had to run out. Go home and rest. _Will talk to you about Innisfree tomorrow.__

_— Abe._

_P.S. I hear it in the deep heart’s core._

You smile and set the note back down, picking up your book and turning it over in your hands. He’s taken good care of it, you notice, in the brief time it was in his care. Still thinking on the poem he seemed most attached to, you notice the plush chair by the desk. 

It couldn’t hurt to sit for a while, start reading the play that Abe has so graciously let you take home. You only need to consider it an option before you find yourself walking towards it. Removing your jacket and dropping it beside, you sit. This room is warmer than the rest of the facility and you find yourself quite relaxed in no time.

You read one, maybe two sentences before your eyes are closing, and you fall asleep.

* * *

The emergency was not as life threatening as the blaring alarm made it out to be. It was a successful mission but nothing to write home about. Red complains about his back problems on the drive home, Liz piping up that perhaps he shouldn’t be lifting trucks, then. 

Their banter never gave way to a full-blown fight, thankfully and Abe was left to his own thoughts without needing to step in as mediator. He thinks about Innisfree, an island and what it might be like to live a quiet life there.

Playing hero is rewarding in its own way, but he knows that staying forever is not something he can stand. Rain drums outside and his thoughts turn to the person who lent him the book in the first place, you who gave him access to a lake isle in Ireland. 

The weather is terrible, he hopes you’ve made it home safe and relatively dry. Your smile when you saw him was at odds with the stab of guilt he felt in your stomach, mirrored in his own. You like him, and you’re ashamed of it. He knows the feeling all too well. 

He barely makes a sound as he walks back into the library. The fire crackles like your voice, warm and welcoming. It’s not until he’s parallel to his tank that he senses the presence of another. Turning, he finds you asleep in the chair on the landing.

His first instinct is to wake you, remind you that you should be at home. He sees the dark circles under your eyes, that sincere peace on your face and the thought of waking you is crushed. You’re tired, you should sleep. Maybe it’s selfishness, he considers. He rather likes that look of serenity on you, even if it is unimaginably rare. 

Taking the books from your slack hands, he places them back on the desk. Picking up your coat, he places it over your sleeping form. He pauses before walking away, filing the report that Manning will demand eventually. He picks up the bottle-green book again. Some things are worth rereading.


	2. Double Amphitrite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to continue this and turn it into a sort-of one shot series!! enjoy!!

You sit on the desk, watching him scan the shelves for the title you’ve requested. You might as well be in deep water. 

Tilting your head, you watch the man adjust to breathing out of water as if it’s nothing. His gills flatten just a touch, but they are nowhere near crushed by the exposure. You’ve been meaning to ask about the intricacies of his anatomy but the phrasing of the question is enough to hold your tongue. 

The intricacies of his anatomy, as if you have the right to ask. Still, it’s all very interesting. A touch too invasive, however. Far too invasive for your tastes. 

But the fact that you consider it, you consider asking on an only partially clinical and thoroughly unprofessional basis how his body functions makes the water level rise around your neck. You’re close to drowning, goddammit, and you have no gills to speak of. 

You first noticed that hypothetical water climbing to thigh-height when Abe asked you to stay on Saturday. The volume has been steadily since.

Your life outside work is brief, a bit of necessary pre-amble and the potential for human connection that never quite pans out. There is plenty that could happen, very little does.

So you agree, you agree to spend time with him as friends. Friends sit around together on weekends, right? Friends lend each other books and debate the meaning behind Atwood’s words. This is friendly. 

A thought pops into your head, a thought that is very close to more-than-friendly. The water rises an additional inch. Abe turns to you, a look of defeat in his wide eyes and he gives you a gesture of apology.

“I can’t seem to find it in this section.” he says. “Perhaps in memoirs---” he trails off, moving back to the staircase. You stand, walking towards him and he stops. "is something wrong?” he asks. You shake your head. 

“Oh, no,” you clarify. At this distance you have to crane your neck to look up at him. “don’t worry about the book. I was thinking---”

“Yes?” he asks. His tone changes minutely, likely without him thinking about it. It betrays his uncertainty. 

“I don’t--- I don’t know about you but it isn’t very often I get out.” he tilts his head, the motion off-putting in contrast to his usually fluid movements. 

“Get out?” he repeats, you nod. 

“You know, like outside? I spend a lot of time here and---” he nods, cutting you off. His eyes drop to his feet for a moment before snapping back up to yours. 

“I see. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel as if you had to stay here. You’re free to go, of course.” he moves to leave, moves to leave it at that and your hand snatches his arm before he gets the chance. You grip him gently, barely concerned by the texture of his skin. He looks back at you, his mouth slightly agape.

“Abe, sweetie, I want you to come with me.” he jerks back a centimetre, but does not pull his arm from yours. Your voice holds a hope that is often hard to find. You want him to understand. 

“I beg your pardon?” he asks. You blink, looking down at your hand on his arm before a tired smile tugs up the corners of your mouth. 

“I want to get out of here--- _if_ you will come, too.” your stress on if has him confused. “ _If_ you’d rather stay then I’ll stay as well. I like it here just fine, but we never seem to leave.” a look of what you hope is realization crosses his face. 

“I couldn’t.” he finally says. Your face falls. “If I am seen---” you resist the urge to say _is that all_? 

“Nobody would see you, I promise. I just meant going for a walk downtown, maybe stopping in at my apartment.” he doesn’t look as opposed to that idea. “I don’t want to be that friend that only ever stays at your place.”

The word _friend_ seems to put him at ease, just like _if_ did. He relaxes just a touch under your hand, moving forward and taking back that centimetre he gave up to shock. He nods, it’s a minute gesture. 

“Perhaps,” he begins. “I suppose a walk couldn’t hurt.” your smile blooms like spring and he seems happy to see it. 

“It’ll be fun,” you insist. He nods again. “and we’re never going to get to Innisfree if we can’t leave here for just a night.” that comment seems to throw him again, but not in a way that he rejects as strongly. His expression softens, his hand covering yours. 

“I understand.” he says, sometimes that’s all that needs to be communicated. “I should wear my apparatus if we intend to stay out for more than few hours.” now it’s your turn to nod. 

“Absolutely. You can come over for a little while, I’ll show you around downtown and have you back by the wee hours.” you resist again the urge to make a comment about how Cinderella of a statement that is. 

* * *

 

He was certain he read your anxiety correctly. Abe is forever trying to compile a list of reference for the complexity of human emotion. The longer he lives ---and he has a feeling that will be, if it has not already been, quite a while--- the more certain he is that he is no wiser about feelings than anyone else. 

What exactly he is remains a mystery, but there are traces of human DNA wrapped around his. Perhaps it is human nature to struggle with emotional understanding regardless of whatever extra powers might be had. 

There is an outstanding lack of empathy to being an empath. It feels like cheating on the best of days, a revelation that all life is a game of poker that he can’t play. People are distant with him on purpose, careful not to touch and completely unaware that he is sharing in their lack of trust. He understands, he does.

He can’t process everything, but five times out of six isn’t terrible odds. Slowly he’s learning that you’re the elusive sixth, the cluster of nerves that jams his own emotional centre. 

How many times has he been wrong about your feelings for him? It sounds like a philosophical question Aquinas could spin, but for Abe it’s all mathematics. 

One. He thought you were disgusted, it turns out that your attraction is only forbidden by your respect of him. That was interesting. 

Two. You just pity him, you proved him wrong by seeking him out. Forced to confront the truth that you avoid who you despise, Abe entertained other options. You might find him just as interesting as he finds you. Time told him that you did. 

Three. He makes for a nice distraction. The notion was shattered five minutes ago, and his fingers fumble with his breathing apparatus as they never have before. You want to leave _with_ him, and you won’t leave without him.

The way his stomach ties itself in knots makes him yearn for a doctors visit before departing. He’d like to ask the prognosis, if he’ll even survive tonight. Doubtful. 

You’re wandering around the desk when he returns, gently tracing the gold lettering on the face of a book. It’s a challenge to speak up, to take you from your cautious exploration. He watches that look of delight on your face, feels something above his stomach stir instead. 

But he does clear his throat eventually, your eyes lifting and that sunny smile eclipsing your spike of nervousness mirrored in his own insides. You’re afraid, he wishes you weren’t but it makes his own terror less lonely. 

“Shall we?” you ask and he finds himself unable to speak. He nods, squeaking out a _yes_. “I like your coat.”

It isn’t often the trench coat is needed, the BPRD transportation usually enough to turn away prying eyes. He straightens the collar on his coat, his hat wide-brimmed and covering the more offensive aspects of his face. He is humanoid but people often ignore the prefix in favour of the suffix.

You do the unthinkable, the condemnable. You take his arm when he holds it out to you. The touch barrier has been broken so many times that it’s in shambles on the floor, never to be repaired. You’re careful to ask, polite in every sense of the word for the most part. Abe realized as he shrugged on his coat that your spontaneous, physical closeness was the antithesis of an issue. 

The fabric dulls the mirrored sensations, but he can feel that you’re a little more relaxed. Your purse is slung over your shoulder and your scarf tied around your neck, you’ve been ready to go for a while. He can’t feel any regret, it puts a spring in his step.

* * *

 

Leaving is easier than anticipated, likely due to Abe’s good behaviour. You flash a smile at the night watchman, a well-placed wink for good measure. You’re careful with the arm your holding, but you give it an extra squeeze for reassurance. 

Poor thing, he’s likely swimming in your own insecurities. It’s a conscious choice to push your worries to the back of your mind, for his sake at least. 

The rainy season is slowly leaving as July bleeds into August. Your umbrella hangs off your other arm and you sincerely hope that Abe isn’t too warm in his coat. You nudge his shoulder and he looks down at you. 

“Tell me if things get too hot, okay? I don’t want you getting heatstroke.” he shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine.” he replies. You shrug. 

“We’ll take my car back to my place and then I’ll show you around. I’m sure you’ve seen the city, but---” Abe cuts you off. 

“I haven’t.” you turn to him again, concern written on your face. 

“Really? It seems like the emergency siren rings every other day.” he shakes his head, you get the feeling of what he’s trying to say.

“There is a line between what one sees on a mission and what one sees exploring. When I am given an objective, it’s like---” he struggles for the words for a moment. “it’s as if I have blinders on.” you nod.

“So I take it you haven’t been to the park?” he shakes his head. “All right, it’ll be something new. I don’t go there as often as I’d like to.” 

The drive is mostly quiet, spent dodging terrible people behind their wheels and letting Abe choose the music. You can feel the approval from him when he turns on the radio to find it already tuned to the classical station. You smile and watch him out of the corner of your eye. 

“Park first, apartment second?” you ask him as you pull into your space outside your building. He seems keen on that. He does not, however, immediately exit your car. You unfasten your seatbelt, putting your umbrella in the backseat. You notice he’s remained still. “Everything okay?”

“Your neighbours,” he begins, sounding worried. “should they see me---” you cut him off with a wave of your hand, not intending to be patronizing but instead reassuring.

“They won’t notice. And I don’t think they’ll care. Most of them don’t even know who I am.” you explain. He seems a bit less on-edge and unbuckles his seatbelt as well. Nothing you say is going to undo his own learned behaviour that outside observation is dangerous, but he is safe with you. 

He adjusts his collar so it covers most of his gills. The people in the cars that whizz by, the ones at red lights don’t care enough to glance at either of you. You understand the need for caution, but the BPRD has sorely overestimated the curiosity of the New Jersey.

“Just stay close to me.” you mumble as you take his hand at the busy intersection. You cross the street when you get the chance, pulling him along. The city lights glitter in the puddles left by an early evening rain.

The park unfolds in front of you, dark green and dimly-lit. To come here this late is not usually an option for most and the place appears deserted. The lamplight isn’t harsh, quite the opposite and you guide Abe towards the starting path.

“This one loops around,” you say to him. “sometimes you can see the stars through the trees on clear nights.” you glance up. “But it looks like rainclouds, lucky us.” 

He surprises you with a smile, a quirk of the corner of his mouth that has your insides emulsifying. Hands still clasped together, your boots hit the pavement.

The flowers are in full bloom, even if the long-receded sunlight is unable to illuminate their colours. You stop near a daisy patch, letting go of Abe’s hand and bending down to pick two. The one in your left hand is given to him and the one in your right is tucked behind your ear. 

Abe looks at the offering, tilting his head again. The quick motion is accompanied by the marginally slower, thankful nod. You walk on, making idle conversation about weather and staying away from the dreaded topic of work. 

“All right, so you barely know the city. At least you’ve been to Ireland.” you offer up, Abe can hardly deny that.

“Many times. Although the same problem persists.” you shrug. 

“At least you’ve had a chance to set foot there. I’d die for that.” he seems momentarily worried by your statement, slowing his pace a fraction. His hand brushes your forearm. “What?” you ask. “The bureau traps everybody, sweetie.”

He, thankfully, does not press the topic. The conversation comes to a screeching halt afterwards, however. 

“I didn’t mean to---” you begin, Abe makes it obvious he isn’t bothered. “You don’t have it easier than me, of course.” 

“No,” he agrees, you’re surprised at the kindness in his tone. “but discontent should never be a competitive sport.” he looks at you, almost expectant. Without thinking, you smile again. It appears that’s what he wants. 

“You’re right, it should be a communal discussion.” he nods.

“Precisely. I wouldn’t describe myself as miserable---” you turn to him, eyes widening.

“Oh, I wouldn’t either. Just---” he reaches for your hand again, you take it without hesitation. 

“As I said, discontent. It’s perfectly fine, normal, even.” you wish you could disagree with that. You’re fully human, something you can confirm that Abe cannot. And yet you have to wonder how much of life is only the _pursuit_ of happiness. 

“Normal,” you repeat. “I always worry that I’m settling.” again, his hand squeezes yours. His palm presses to yours and the feeling of his skin is familiar, comforting. 

“We will find our Innisfree.” he says, you’re inclined to agree. You wonder if he can feel the shift in your emotions, the drowning of your hopelessness under that rising water. 

The night is almost perfect, you manage to walk a good three-quarters of trail without an accident. But once the final stretch is reached, it becomes very obvious that the drops of residual water falling from the tree branches are actually just more rain.

You groan, tugging your hood over your head. You left your umbrella in the car, how  _stupid_. Abe doesn’t seem to mind, he doesn’t let go when you walk faster. 

“Come on,” you say, pulling at his arm. He quickens his pace. “we might be able to beat the worst of it.” a small part of you knows he’d probably like a languid walk through the rain, but your immune system is a fragile thing. 

Rain drops slide down your forehead and over your nose. You wipe the water away from your eyes and find the park entrance approaching. Abe seems to understand your want to minimize the time spent outside now and you don’t have to drag him anywhere.

It hardly matters, you’re soaked by the time you reach the lobby of your apartment. The light overhead is soft and warm in tone at the very least, a nice departure of fluorescents in the bureau. You unlock the door with cold fingers and are more than thankful there isn’t a soul in the elevator, either. 

“I’m sorry.” you say to Abe as you guide him down your hallway. “I just got better from my last cold and I’d rather stay healthy.” he seems confused as to why you’d be apologizing in the first place.

“As would I.” he says, and despite the chill clinging to you there is that familiar feeling of warmth climbing in your chest. You unlock your door and invite him inside.


End file.
